Once again the Red Sox prove that there isn’t a quirky personality in the bunch. They are as inedible as an unripe banana.
Theo Epstein, the general manager of the Sox, has gone out of his way in recent years to purge the team of any player who may seem in any way, shape or form to have a funny personality.
The last time Epstein laughed was back in the 1990s when Bill Parcells said ownership let him buy the groceries, but they wouldn’t let him cook the meal.
Epstein’s cooking has proven to be more like the Galloping Gourmet than Julia Child. Unfortunately, fans must sit down at the table and try to chew it up.
Theo’s unfunny team is like watching a duck boat skid across the frozen Charles River and crash into one of the muddy banks. But, he cut the laugh track.
When things get tough, a player with a few light-hearted quirks may help the team find perspective and even loosen up.
One presumes the Hall of Fame of any sport is filled with straight men, but on each of their teams you will likely find a comic spirit to help the hero overcome the dark days to play like the boys in the Hall.
It’s as if the classic “Who’s on First?” comedy routine done by Abbot and Costello were to be done by Abbott and Abbott.
If you line up Carl Crawford, Jacoby Ellsbury, J.D. Drew, and Adrian Gonzalez, you might have a couple of hits, but there wouldn’t be a funny comment among them. If they spoke to you in the dark, you wouldn’t know which one was talking.
Sox players talk in the empty platitudes programmed by a computer geek.
This season’s Red Sox team, constituted by Epstein, is the epitome of his sober-sided attempt to staff the pitching and tune the lineup to a caliber of dull-wits who play like automatons.
Theo banned the funny button.
All this goes back to the point that humor has no place with nose-to-grindstone, sports-is-our-life types. Games were originally meant to be fun (as in funny), but sports websites like Bleacher Report don’t like to laugh, unless it is at the expense of a body part or flatulence.
Readers: Note please that awards for writing here at Bleacher Report will receive medals, except in the category of humor.
Kings in Medieval times kept the court jester around for entertainment. The jester was the only one allowed to tell the truth to the king because it was done as a joke. There is no joking in baseball in Boston.
Our Old Town Team, the Red Sox, have reached a point where the King has killed the punch line. Now straight men in the lineup struggle, and the Good Humor Man has been banished from the dug out.
If you are one of the rare sports fans who like to see bad plays and bad players skewered by the mighty pen, then try SEX, DRUGS, SPORTS & WHIMSY, now in two volumes, soon three. William Russo sharpens his teeth on broken glass and writes about misplays and unsportsmanlike teams.